


Wordlessly

by orphan_account



Category: Glee
Genre: Anal, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Fingerfucking, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Married Couple, Married Sex, New York City
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They still complete one another at the end of a long day. Back to the basics; back to the start. Future fic where Kurt and Blaine are married and live in New York. <b><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/586323">Reblog on Tumblr!</a></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Wordlessly

Love is meant to draw two individuals together seamlessly. Thoughts shared with no more than a brief look, a shy smile, sentences flitting between two pairs of lips without missing a beat. Ever since the first song Blaine sang to him, Kurt’s taken the lyrics deeply to heart — _my missing puzzle piece_  — and finding Blaine has been the fitting of two halves together into a whole. In the dim light that bathes them with the warmth of the sunset, Kurt’s eyes linger over Blaine’s features, the little details that have written themselves into skin over the course of the years they’ve shared. Most come in the form of the barest of wrinkles by the corners of Blaine’s eyes, developed after too much laughter and a smile bright enough to light up a stage. Blaine doesn’t freckle in the way that Kurt does under the sun, no scattered spots chaotically marring an otherwise smooth complexion; instead, it’s the golden tint of Blaine’s tan that Kurt claims ownership of, carefully maintained even through the coldest of winters with trips out to the shore, icy green foam settling around their ankles and punctuated by the occasional delighted yelp. It fades in places, lighter after passing the shadow of Blaine’s collarbones, further still under the cut of Blaine’s hips.  
  
Little imperfections, mostly, save for one that Kurt would never deign to change — a soft, pale ring around Blaine’s fourth finger.  
  
A long day does nothing to quiet the awakening of the city in its twilight hours, an occasional honk rudely interrupting the otherwise smooth rush of traffic. Lights flicker on in timed intervals, most of which Kurt memorized long ago, but he still watches carefully, letting the memories etch into his mind, so deep as to be indelible.  
  
He loves the city, loves to soak up the feel of it, and it never grows old for the quiet promise that lingers in the back of his mind, thoughts of salty air and cresting waves, of color stubbornly lingering under the curve of every nail. Someday.  
  
Not yet.  
  
The sigh slips from his lips before Blaine even announces his arrival, the sweep of Blaine’s feet still light as a ghost after so many years of dancing. The mattress gives under Blaine’s weight, the sheets puckering under Kurt’s fingertips as he awaits the ghost of Blaine’s breath warm against the side of his neck and delights in guessing where he’ll kiss first. Today, it’s a chaste peck against Kurt’s cheek and a wide hand smoothing down Kurt’s side.  
  
No words yet, but Kurt doesn’t mind for how much  _more_  there is to the touch. He feels Blaine’s retreat like an ache, and finds himself drawn in by an intangible pull, a tug deep in his chest that only settles halfway as Kurt sinks into his pillows, his entire body turned towards Blaine’s easy sprawl.  
  
“How was your day?” Kurt asks at last, even though he knows the answer. Blaine’s shoulders slump slightly about him, his eyes are dark and too sharp for all of their weariness, and magazine pages crinkle under the weight of a too-tight clutch. Kurt asks not as an inquiry, but instead as an offered hand, same as the one he curls protectively over the crook of Blaine’s elbow.  
  
“Long,” Blaine says.  
  
No explanation offered.  
  
Eyes bright and curious, Kurt bites down on his questions, but the look is enough for Blaine to extend an arm across Kurt’s pillow, an unspoken invitation that reads again in the smooth, placated line of Blaine’s brow. Kurt curls up close, blinking slowly as he presses his nose against the soft fabric of Blaine’s shirt. It smells like rain.  
  
A deeper flush spreads across Kurt’s skin as he wraps a leg possessively around Blaine’s thigh, knees knocking awkwardly as Blaine throws in silent laughter as tribute, even as his eyes stubbornly remain fixed on an article about the upcoming college football season.  
  
“Yours?” Blaine asks, even as he reads.  
  
Kurt considers his options.  _I really missed you_  might be the most accurate, but reeks of need.  _Dull_  paints the city in shades of gray, focusing on concrete and letting movement fade into a constant blur. Blaine’s already taken  _long_  for himself.  
  
“Ordinary,” he decides.  
  
After a few minutes, they fall back to one another’s sides of the bed once more, Blaine flexing his arm to help circulation and Kurt sneaking back underneath a chillier section of the blanket. Kurt shivers, keeping one ankle thrown over Blaine’s, and an occasional nudge from Blaine serves as a message all its own, aware and welcoming.  
  
Still restless, Kurt starts to play with the sheets, fingers toying at the edge of the fabric, running along the line of stitching as his gaze remains fixed on Blaine. Exhaustion has faded into something softer in Blaine’s expression, no longer fatigued but easing towards the drowsy weight that will leave the both of them entwined like vines as they sink into sleep. As tempting as the thought is, Kurt can’t ward off the energy resting just underneath the surface of his skin, winding further and further, impossible to work off even as he quickly flips through the fashion magazines strategically kept on his nightstand.  
  
He runs the sole of his foot up along Blaine’s ankle; Blaine glances over briefly.  
  
Eager to make the most of an attentive audience, Kurt lets out a plaintive sigh, slipping further down under the sheets and stretching both arms up and over his head. With a smooth roll of his back, Kurt arches, hips lifting slightly off the bed with a muffled groan; his own muscles are sore from the day, tired after hours of practice, even as his nerves run on a thrumming hum underneath.  
  
Blaine makes no move of his own, but watches nonetheless, the corner of his lips quirked in fondness.  
  
Without waiting for an invitation, Kurt rolls onto his side, a little bolder, a little more eager, one arm snaking up and over Blaine’s chest, fingers clutching around fabric. It’s a request at once bolder and quieter than usual, easily slipping underneath the noise of the milling crowd outside were it not for the fact that Blaine never just notices — he stays for the entire show, even the private performances. Kurt draws a hand down the length of Blaine’s arm, thin fingers wrapping around Blaine’s wrist, tightly enough to feel a faint, fluttering pulse. So alive.  
  
Kurt stays Blaine’s movement, pulls the hand away from where it’s been holding the magazine open, and the pages whisper as the magazine slips off the side of the bed. The idea of creased pages bothers Kurt, seems to bother Blaine as well, but Kurt stubbornly maintains his hold, easing his thumb against firm skin and tracing over the line of Blaine’s knuckles. They’re smoother than Kurt’s own; Blaine’s entire frame is a bit wider than Kurt’s, stockier, aligning with a deeper strength that Kurt’s familiarized himself with long ago.  
  
Hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder, Kurt’s lashes fan down as he brushes his thumb over and along the center of Blaine’s palm, a possessive sweep over the curve of Blaine’s life line. Kurt’s breath stutters with the flame licking in his chest, heat rising on his cheeks again as he buries his face fast against Blaine’s arm, hips nudging forward until their thighs touch.  
  
Almost at once, Blaine pulls away from the easy lock of their bodies, sliding down until his face is level with Kurt’s. Their fingers slot easily together, Blaine’s hand giving a gentle squeeze as he tugs both of them back beyond his hip, forcing Kurt closer. The warmth in Kurt’s cheeks starts to even out, gaze clouding as he draws himself over the space where his pillow stops and Blaine’s begins, always looking up to the color of Blaine’s eyes, burnt honey with flecks of a livelier green.  
  
Blaine raises his chin, lips parted enough for Kurt to feel his breath ghosting warm over Kurt’s skin, but maintains a frustrating distance between the both of them. It would only take a second, a happy accident, a nudge, yet Blaine remains stock still even as Kurt lets out a breathless, impatient whimper on his next exhale.  
  
Judging by the smirk that suddenly warms Blaine’s expression, brow arching mischievously, Blaine knows exactly what he’s doing. It earns him a quick smack on the shoulder from Kurt’s free hand, Blaine’s laughter breaking free as Kurt tugs apart their hands and turns on his other side, at once mortified and desperately clamoring in his skin. But as Kurt pulls away, sliding over to his half of the bed, he feels Blaine following shortly thereafter, the contours of their body perfectly aligned as Blaine snakes an arm around Kurt’s waist and tugs him close.  
  
It isn’t until Blaine’s teeth scrape against the barely exposed curve of Kurt’s shoulder that Kurt finds his muscles relaxing, tension melting away against his will.  
  
“You can be a real jerk sometimes, you know that?” Kurt mumbles, voice muffled against the pillow.  
  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Blaine breathes, fingers tracing invisible circles up the center of Kurt’s chest, stopping at the sharp line of Kurt’s collar.  
  
Kurt presses his back further against the expanse of Blaine’s chest, eyes slowly falling to a close.  
  
“Exhibit A,” he replies, the bridge of his nose wrinkling in a show of distaste.  
  
Soft fingertips trace and knead against his clavicle, and the weight of a leg hiked up over Kurt’s hip presses his body closer to the mattress, forcing him to bite back a sigh.  
  
“If you  _want_  something from me, that’s what words are for, Kurt.”  
  
“You don’t need them.”  
  
“I need them as much as you need this,” whispers Blaine, too much of a hiss to be soft as his hand closes tightly around Kurt’s shoulder, pushing it firmly against the mattress. Kurt’s breath is punched out of him as he glances up with wide eyes, meeting a darker gaze from Blaine, who keeps his palm against Kurt’s shoulder as his free hand skims along Kurt’s inner thigh.  
  
Drawing close.  
  
Kurt has no way to hide his interest, too exposed and nerves raw, layers peeled away by Blaine’s sharp, discerning gaze. So he stops trying, submits to a battle of wills, drawing his fingertips along the cut of his own hip and resting his hand mere inches from Blaine’s.  
  
“Tell me what you want, Kurt,” Blaine growls, his eyes chasing after Kurt’s movement, pausing at the sight of Kurt straining against cotton, a brazen sprawl.  
  
Kurt raises his chin, lips pressed thin and tight, letting his fingers skim underneath the elastic band of his pants. His leg draws up, pulls away from warmed sheets; Blaine immediately pulls his own knees closer, locking Kurt’s thighs in place.  
  
Blaine drops his forehead against Kurt’s. “Don’t you want me?” he asks, voice pitched low and hoarse; Kurt’s gaze immediately drops down to the curve of Blaine’s throat, ever so slightly flushed, complexion soft and rosy.  
  
His hitched breath is enough of a response for Blaine to pull closer still, the bridge of his nose pressed insistently against the side of Kurt’s neck as Blaine breathes deeply. Kurt can’t help himself, a breath in his lungs skittering as he dips his own hand further to wrap around himself, indulging in a slow, sinuous pull.  
  
“ _Kurt._ ”  
  
A hand brushes up to rest over Kurt’s, but Blaine carefully toes the limit, an imploring touch offered without quite seeking permission, kisses littered across Kurt’s skin but none of them bruising, every movement teasing glowing embers without ever starting a fire. There’s no direction offered from either hand, no murmurs shared, just a mix of gasps and hums as their hips meet, Kurt’s lashes fluttering under the tease. He tugs his hand away from himself, loops both arms around Blaine’s shoulders, and from there everything is prying, nails dragging along heated skin and along the length of Blaine’s spine, while Blaine’s hands dig underneath the both of them, slipping between mattress and the swell of Kurt’s ass. Kurt notes, with some selfish satisfaction, that Blaine’s achingly hard by now, and Kurt turns to press his lips against the slight perspiration that lingers by Blaine’s temple.  
  
Kurt’s hands travel lower, kneading in slow circles against the dimples of Blaine’s lower back, but as soon as they threaten to travel underneath Blaine’s waistband, it earns Kurt a smack on the wrist from Blaine’s quick hand.  
  
“What was  _that_  for?” Kurt hisses, words cut off by a gasp when Blaine shoves his hips down, aligning their cocks perfectly for a hasty, rough slide.  
  
“You didn’t say the magic word,” huffs Blaine.  
  
Kurt sticks out his tongue; Blaine stops him with a kiss.  
  
Breath shuddering through his lungs, Kurt retaliates in the only way he feels able, squirming away from Blaine’s hold just enough to loop a leg up and over Blaine’s waist. Some part of him is tempted to let this continue, rubbing up against each other in a way that’s a little bit juvenile and completely desperate, and Kurt ducks away from Blaine’s lips to bite instead at the line of Blaine’s jaw, fingers weaving into Blaine’s curls and tugging sharply. Just the way Blaine likes it.  
  
Instead of driving Blaine over the edge, it sends him rolling away, a sudden shock of cold spreading down Kurt’s front as he watches Blaine pull back in a blur. Sprawled on his back, Blaine looks disheveled, expression overwhelmed in a way that reminds Kurt of sloppy teenage make-outs and fumbling hands. His chest heaves, and Blaine rakes fingers through his hair before finally turning to gaze at Kurt with clouded eyes.  
  
“Kurt,” he says again, voice on the edge of a whimper, and it’s suddenly all that Kurt can bear.  
  
Lifting his weight and leaning against his elbows, Kurt crawls closer to Blaine, until his knees rest on either side of Blaine’s thighs. Even fully clothed, Blaine still looks completely wrecked, a deep flush high on his cheeks and pupils dark and blown. Kurt’s gaze drops down to Blaine’s lips, swollen and rosy, and drops down to tug one of them between his teeth, their noses bumping together in the process.  
  
“Please,” Kurt murmurs. “ _Please_ , Blaine. Mess me.”  
  
And that’s all the encouragement Blaine needs, surging upward with renewed vigor, one arm clamping immediately around Kurt’s waist as Blaine’s free hand immediately slips underneath Kurt’s boxer briefs to wrap around his erection, thumb sweeping over the tip and stroking down with a steady squeeze. Kurt feels all strength in his arms buckle as he drops down to rest atop Blaine, but the added weight doesn’t deter Blaine in the slightest, Blaine’s lips closing around Kurt’s earlobe and sucking insistently.  
  
“You only had to ask,” he rasps.  
  
“Be quiet and fuck me already,” Kurt breathes, air punched out of his lungs as Blaine rolls the both of them over, rattling the nightstand as Blaine reaches around in its top drawer and strains to keep a hand splayed over Kurt’s chest.  
  
While Blaine fumbles with the retrieved bottle of lube, Kurt slumps against the bed and starts to map Blaine’s body with eager, searching hands. Rising up onto his knees, Kurt presses kisses soft and tender against the pulse point in Blaine’s neck, a voiceless laugh rising at the prickle of stubble against his cheek as he hikes up the hem of Blaine’s shirt, fingers grazing along planes of muscle and the trail of dark hair stretching down from Blaine’s navel. As Kurt tugs the shirt further up, Blaine lets out a noise of protest, carefully holding slick fingers out of reach; Kurt can’t bring himself to be sorry, ducking down to brush his lips up the side of Blaine’s ribcage, reveling in the thrum of Blaine’s chuckles as they melt into a gasp at the feel of Kurt’s tongue laving hot around Blaine’s nipple.  
  
“I thought you wanted me to fuck you,” Blaine says thickly, moaning as his back arches, pressing himself closer to the heat of Kurt’s mouth as his hands are held out to the side, practically forgotten.  
  
Kurt hums in acknowledgment, tugging the peak of Blaine’s nipple roughly between his teeth for a slow suck before leaning back to pull the shirt off of Blaine in full, tossing it away and immediately running his palms fully down Blaine’s sides, his chest, warming both of them with the friction.  
  
“I do. But I also want to  _see_  you.”  
  
“You always do.”  
  
Snorting with a soft grin, Kurt consents to a soft, searching kiss from Blaine as his hands dip lower, pushing down Blaine’s pants and boxers with a single nudge and kneading his fingers into the considerable swell of Blaine’s ass. “Or maybe I just want to see your ass,” Kurt jokes, shoving the fabric lower as he crouches down, knocking at Blaine’s thighs with the side of his hand until Blaine lifts either knee, helping to free the pants, which also get shoved away unceremoniously.  
  
“You sure you don’t want to be the one fucking  _me_  tonight?” Blaine asks, grinning and arching a suggestive brow.  
  
“Want that too,” murmurs Kurt, lifting himself until he’s eye level with Blaine’s cock, his gaze growing darker at the sight of it from so close a distance, red and hard and  _thick_. Before he can stop himself, Kurt leans forward, pressing his nose against the cut of Blaine’s hip and simply breathing in the scent of him, index finger dragging along the crease of Blaine’s ass in a tease. “Later.”  
  
“We’re not eighteen anymore; how many times do you really think we can — oh,  _fuck_.”  
  
With a low groan, Blaine cards his free hand through Kurt’s hair, gasping and buckling forward as Kurt surprises him, wrapping his lips around Blaine’s cock and enveloping him in sudden, searing heat. Any protests die quickly on the tip of his tongue as Blaine gazes down with clouded eyes, guiding Kurt into a smooth rhythm. It isn’t long before he’s fucking easily into Kurt’s mouth, the both of them wordless, save for pleased hums trapped within the confines of their walls.  
  
Only when Kurt feels the telltale jump of muscles under his hands does he pull back at last, smiling in self-satisfaction as he pulls himself up to eye level with Blaine, who leans forward quickly for a kiss, tongue sweeping in deep to catch the taste of himself.  
  
“Wanna fuck you, Kurt,” Blaine whispers, nudging at Kurt’s cheek with the tip of his nose, and it’s all the coaxing Kurt needs.  
  
When Blaine stays stock still on his knees, save for the drop of his gaze down to the bed, Kurt knows to follow the silent instruction. Splayed out over the mattress, he carefully slips out of his shirt, wincing at the shock of static before tossing it over the side of the bed, shimmying out of his boxers and pants next. None of his movements are quite finessed, not after he catches a glimpse of the urgency in Blaine’s eyes, enough to send another surge of want buzzing underneath his skin, cock twitching again in interest. Once bare, Kurt settles down over the sheets with a shiver, aligning closely with Blaine’s indentation.  
  
Stretched over Blaine’s side of the bed.  
  
Only after Kurt’s breath evens out does Blaine move at last, practically pulling the air out of Kurt as he seals their mouths in a kiss, measured and smooth. His dry palm brushes up the pale skin of Kurt’s inner thigh, a soft promise of more, before sweeping around to rub circles against the small of Kurt’s back, lifted almost imperceptibly off of the mattress.  
  
 _I love you_ , Blaine mouths against Kurt’s jaw, and Kurt can’t bring himself to point out that he felt every word.  
  
“Blaine,  _please_ ,” pleads Kurt, spreading his legs and shifting on the bed, not sure yet whether to push himself closer to Blaine’s hand, or up to hold their bodies flush.  
  
Blaine makes the decision for him, sweeping a wet finger down the crease of Kurt’s ass, tracing along the darkened rim once, twice, and a dozen brushes more, until he has Kurt writhing impatiently underneath, soft mewls fading into angry hisses.  
  
“You’re being a  _tease_ ,” Kurt complains. It only makes things worse.  
  
Only after Kurt nips sharply down on Blaine’s lower lip does Blaine finally react, cheeks still rosy as he arches a brow, then nudges against Kurt’s hole with a finger. Only after the both of them have relaxed, bodies trembling almost imperceptibly and mostly in tandem, does Blaine push his finger in the rest of the way, eyes fluttering shut at the drag when Kurt squeezes around him. They’re silent, save for panted breaths and the murmur of one another’s names, soft as a prayer.  
  
Kurt loves to talk, but this is another type of communication entirely.  
  
By the time Blaine has three fingers pushed inside, Kurt’s head has long since fallen back against the pillow, strands of his hair fanning out over pale eggshell as he places a hand softly atop the heat in his abdomen, one that winds tighter with every stroke. When he can’t bite down the moans any longer, Kurt reaches out fast for Blaine’s shoulder, fingertips digging into the muscle as he blinks his eyes open, the room around them too bright, too glaring, and he realizes that they haven’t bothered to turn the lights off.  
  
Sometimes, he prefers it that way.  
  
“Are you ready?” Blaine asks, dipping down his forehead to press it against Kurt’s own, and through heaving breaths, Kurt nods, skin abuzz as he presses a heel down the line of Blaine’s spine.  
  
“Please.”  
  
Slicking himself with an easy motion, Blaine wipes his hand dry on the side of his pillowcase — earning a fleeting glare from Kurt — before weaving his fingers with Kurt’s, palm to palm and brought close for a kiss against Kurt’s knuckles. Placated, Kurt sinks further still against the sheets, letting strength bleed easily from his limbs as Blaine positions himself. He lets his eyelids sink closed, heavy and warm, as Blaine starts to push inside. Filling him, easing inside whatever crevices have worn themselves underneath Kurt’s skin over the years.  
  
Completing him.  
  
Kurt’s palm presses against Blaine’s chest as they find their rhythm, delighting in the quick beat of Blaine’s heart, steady and strong. Whatever remained of sunlight has long since slipped away, but the lights sparkle from the other side of glass like stars, barely visible as the indoor light threatens to overwhelm them. Here, everything is bright, down to the way his nerves sear under Blaine’s attentive touch; Kurt gasps, pants, can’t catch his breath for the way Blaine has always left him without.  
  
“I love you,” he murmurs, words shaken by Blaine’s thrusts, which only grow stronger.  
  
And Kurt’s pretty sure he hears his name as Blaine curls near, one hand shoved quickly between both their bodies, wrapping tightly around Kurt’s straining erection.  
  
So close.  
  
“—love you,” Kurt finally makes out on the edge of Blaine’s breath, muscles leaping underneath the barest of Kurt’s touches. “Kurt, love you so much, love you,  _love_  you.”  
  
The last wall shatters only ever when they’re like this, only ever when they lean fully against one another.  
  
Fitting together along every last seam.  
  
Blaine gasps Kurt’s name as Kurt cries out for Blaine in turn, a conflicted rush of air caught between their mouths as Blaine’s hips drive as deeply as they can. Kurt falls first — as he usually does — but only just, squeezing tightly around Blaine as he streaks hot over their chests, nails scrambling for purchase and drawing rosy lines down the expanse of Blaine’s back. The grind of Kurt’s heel against Blaine’s back sends him bucking, a rush and too fast and too  _much_  for Kurt before melting into a smooth, easy heat, movements suddenly slick as Blaine fills Kurt and offers a hasty kiss pressed against the corner of Kurt’s mouth.  
  
Trembling with all the grace of a colt, Blaine waits for Kurt’s permission, lowering his head against Kurt’s chest after one final, searching kiss.  
  
“So, how was your day?” asks Kurt, smiling at the way Blaine’s fingers start to drum out the pace of Kurt’s pulse along the curve of his ribcage.  
  
Lifting his head with a weary groan, Blaine presses the tip of his nose to Kurt’s heart.  
  
“Perfect.”


End file.
